


Life Can Be Sweet- A Crowley x Aziraphale smut fanfic

by CrumpetsAndTea



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-08-23 14:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumpetsAndTea/pseuds/CrumpetsAndTea
Summary: Crowley the reluctant owner of  Hells Bakery finds himself stuck for a new recipe idea to bring back his bakery from the edges of bake-rupcy due to scandals of the previous owner. He finds his efforts in vain until a angelic man named Aziraphale shows him that indeed life can be sweet.





	1. Liquorice And Cranberry Sauce Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is my second fanfic please check out my first fanfic “Coffee and Angel Cake” these two stories aren’t connected but you might enjoy that one as well. This is basically my love of food connected with my adoration of Good Omens please enjoy. I hope you like my contribution to the Good Omens fandom.

“Peppermint, Lavender and cream? Too cliche. Sponge cake, filled with Jelly and custard? Done that. Tapioca Pudding and Sweet bread? Bleh.” 

Book after book clattered to the floor in an array of chaos in the small bakery on the edge of Crown street a very irritated baker seemed to be rummaging through every nook and cranny in the building searching for a collection of dusty cook books that haven’t been used since the reign of Queen Victoria.

“Cranberry sauce and liquorice fingers? Who in their right mind would eat this garbage.” One frustrated and extremely annoyed groan later and everything on the table top went crashing to the floor, the bakers name tag shining in the light Crowley it said.

Hells bakery, a once five star bakery that was revered in all the latest cooking blogs as a treat, a treasure trove and a downright hidden delight amongst the average dweller.

What they hadn’t added in their little blogs was that it had since fallen out of popularity in a breadly turn of events since it’s last owner a Mr Satann was caught stowing away stolen dough, in the well dough and was since forced to retire and give the fallen bakery to his second in command a Mr Crowley J Anthony Who was currently indulging in the great expression known as despair, he held his head in his hands on the customer counter groaning quite loudly. 

He thought to himself quietly It’s like I’ve lost all sense of creativity, nothing tastes good. Just as the baker was going into a whirlpool of melancholy a very loud and obnoxious sound seemed to pull him out of his self loathing. The most grotesque sound of lips smacking as someone ate with an even more annoying bonus of unrequired loud commentary.

“Mmmm delicious, how scrumptious!” The sounds of chewing and lip licking was disastrously loud that even the baker was forced to stand up straight and glare at whoever was making such a ruckus.

“Can’t you see I’m wallowing?” He said throwing his hands up exasperated. The offending person didn’t seem to notice the owners untimely outburst in the slightest and seemed to be more interested in the Jam tart with the fruit purée filling in front of him than the exhausted baker. 

Crowley for the first time in his life was well and truly dumbfounded at what he saw. A cherub of a man with the whole shebang of cheeks rosier than the glossiest Apple picked by Eve herself, hair the colour of wheat fields on a spring day and the softest looking skin he has ever seen on a man akin to the cream that used to settle on the tops of milk in glass milk bottles and eyes of the palest sky blue .

But it wasn’t just his unusual appearance dressed in tweed but also his current expression. Crowley in all his life had but been granted one incredibly useless super power and that was he could tell when someone was enjoying their food, whether they thought it was too salty or sweet not savoury enough lacked refinement. But right now the most complex expression had graced this strange angelic like beings face. 

His eyes were shut tight, his lips was almost quivering from the sheer delight of the tart he had taken a bite of. His cheeks went to work, his fingers seemed to tap quite happily at the table and his eyebrows furrowed while his face was akin to the most unusual pallor of pink from the sheer amount of concentration. This man wasn’t just eating the tart like most customers , in fact many food critiques often had a very different expression to what they were saying.

However with this being it was almost as if he was being transported to another realm and Crowley for the first time in what seemed like a millennium became well and truly fixated on another human being. Even after the strange being had left Crowley did not close the bakery up early as he usually would, what was that expression?

Was it delight? Joy? Disgust? No it was none of those it was something far more complex and wonderful than he could ever imagine and for the very first time the reluctant owner of Hells Bakery at 21st Crown street could not tell whether someone has enjoyed his food or not.


	2. Soufflé Hopes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys I know double uploads on two fanfics haha It’s like Christmas in August. This is the second chapter of my fanfic hope you enjoy. It came to me very easily. The next upload might take a bit longer than usual because of this earlier upload so thank you for your patience dears. This is also a longer written chapter than my first so have fun reading.

How peculiar. 

So peculiar that it almost became an obsession. Crowley found himself doing the most unusual thing glancing at the clock on his wall. Tapping away at the counter tops impatiently and ignoring any company that was not this angel-like-curly haired man.

It became so ingrained in the poor bakers mind that he knew on the very dot, that this man would arrive exactly at 12:00 pm no lesser and no later for Lunch or Tea Time. 

He would promptly stand outside the bakery looking at the bejewelled goods from the shop window for a good 20 minutes with a look of complete and utter inner conflict on his face on whether or not to stop by for a tasty treat.

From the score board that Crowley kept this angelic man always lost to his desire for a sugary bun or a tart or whatever delicious concoction was on special that evening and Crowley found himself frustratingly tried to please this man much to his inner disgust. 

Tick, tick, tick, tick the clock seemed to luxuriously tick by the sound almost defeating in the quiet shop and despite himself Crowley found himself staring at the display for the Sweets, waiting for the man to appear behind the sweet shelves and look longingly at the array of vast treats. 

He’s late, he’s never late. Crowley thought to himself bitterly. He stared at the clock again which marked 10 minutes past 12 0 clock and a dreaded feeling sunk quite deeply into Crowley’s stomach. What if he’s not coming today? Or ever? 

The clock started to sound suffocating to the poor baker who’s anxiety seemed to expand by the minute like a soufflé rising with hope only to collapse in on itself.

Tick, tick, tick. Thump, thump, thump went Crowley’s heart which seemed to swell in his chest, he could hear it beating in his ears as despair seeded itself into his body like weeds in a flower bed. 

He’s not coming today there’s no use opening up shop...the ugly thought poisoning him.  
He took a glance at the small handful of customers there. Well if he’s not here you can all just get out. 

His nose crinkled childishly and just as he picked up his megaphone, (that he kept on numerous occasions to discourage the most annoying customers from coming back) to yell at everyone to leave his bakery immediately, the bell next to the bakery door chimed when it opened. 

“Sorry I’m late!”  
If ever a man could be the complete and utter epitome of the word a mess than that man was standing in front of Crowley’s counter. His ears were red, his cheeks flushed, his hair stood up at the strangest angles one of his socks was drooping far lower than the other and his jacket was quite frankly inside out.

“Did I miss the lunch special!” The man said wheezing to catch his breath.  
He was a rather comical sight. Crowley thought bemused to himself, a man that has no time for appearances but is more worried about a bakeries lunch special. 

To anyone else this behaviour would have seemed slightly absurd, crazy even and from the looks of the bewildered customers around it seemed such a bizarre way to react but to the baker It was almost endearing. 

The baker glared at an older woman who seemed just about to make a nasty comment.  
Eat-your-tart-you-old-witch was what his look said if looks could speak. 

The man looked at him so desperately Crowley didn’t even have the heart to mess with him.  
“Yes the Lunch special is on today, it’s been extended by...” Crowley looked up at the clock. “..A whole ten minutes love.”  
The sheer relief on the angelic man’s face left a strange tingling in Crowley’s fingers. 

The man in front of him almost looked on the verge of collapsing a drop of sweat ran down his forehead dripping onto his chest and disappearing underneath the thick vest he wore and Crowley’s eyes followed it so closely he missed almost all of what the man said.  
“...and a earl grey if you have it.” 

Crowley mentally scolded himself severely for not paying attention. “What?” He said out loud. The man gave him a confused smile. Crowley coughed discreetly. “I meant what was that love?”  
The man in front of him beamed. “Would you happen to have any Strawberry tarts in?” 

A sinking feeling dipped in Crowley’s stomach, he remembered the menus quite vividly, today he had, apple pie slices, cranberry croutons, biscotti and banana bread, pudding and mascarpone cupcakes, red velvet and chocolate fingers but no Strawberry tarts. 

Curses I should have made damn strawberry tarts today he thought to himself. He scratched at the side of his jawline trying to muster up the nerve to tell this man. “Sorry about this love but no strawberry tarts today, late shipment of fruit.” 

The results were instantaneously devastating, like telling children that the tooth fairy wasn’t real, or that eggs do not come from bunnies despite the Easter propaganda. It was likened to kicking a puppy as the man’s face just dropped. 

“Oh I see.” He said rather gravely.  
Oh no I’ve upset him, well done you bloody idiot Crowley thought to himself.  
“H-hang on a second the apple pie slices are very good. I really recommend them.” Crowley said desperate to undo the devastation on the man’s features. 

“It’s a new special, buy a pie and get a packet of macaroons as well.”  
The old woman who was promptly eating pie stared at him quite intently to let him know she would also be getting this special that he only just now made up.

He gulped his gaze saying can it Karren I’m trying to do something.  
The man’s face lightened up quite a bit.  
“Really?” 

No I just made it up Crowley said to himself in his head but out loud to the man he brightly said. “Yes.”  
As the man promptly left the bakery buying the lie that was the macaroon Apple pie special with a cheery backwards wave.

The old woman who was enjoying her apple pie came up to the counter and quite firmly stated. “I would like one packet of macaroons now, since it comes as a deal with the apple pie.” She smugly stated.

He adjusted his glasses gave her the most joyous smile possible. “Well look at that it’s 12:30, we’re out.”  
He seemed too distracted to notice as the older woman began to scold him for his rudeness but his mind was elsewhere. 

Tarts I need to make strawberry tarts tomorrow he thought to himself ignoring the seething old lady in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to give kudos and comments I really appreciate it and it gives me feedback on what people like. Will be sure to post the next chapter soon. I hope you enjoyed this longer written chapter. Love CrumpetsAndTea


	3. Strawberry Tarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi third chapter here, quite a large chapter actually I didn’t expect it to go on so long but I desperately didn’t want to leave this on a cliffhanger so please enjoy this extended long third chapter. I really loved writing it. Again sorry if it’s a little terrible in the grammar and writing department it really can be difficult fitting it inbetween real life stuff.

Crowley who was usually very neat and tidy was quite literally a walking disaster in every manner of the word he looked dishevelled and sleep deprived.

Part of his shirt was covered in flour, his sunglasses hid dark circles around his eyes and his shirt sleeve was torn but none of that mattered to  
Crowley as he stared at the man in front of him trying not to show the full extent of his mirth as strawberry tarts lined the shelves. 

“Well that’s a lot of strawberry tarts, new shipment in?” The angelic-man smiled and warmth seemed to curl into the very ends of Crowley’s toes it took him a while to register he had not in fact answered the man yet and he awkwardly stumbled. “Why yes love, new shipment in.” He hated how his voice squeaked slightly. 

The man in front of him frowned suddenly seemed to tilt his head and bite the bottom of his lip and a silence filled the room. What’s wrong? 

Crowley thought to himself his own smile faltering slightly.

“You know I really feel like a slice of apple pie today.” The man promptly beamed while being blissfully unaware he had in fact ruined Crowley who could have slumped to the ground if it was seen as socially acceptable.

Unknown to the man in front of him the baker Crowley had stayed up all night to make exactly 126 strawberry tarts, that’s 126 fruit toppings sliced to perfection, 126 spoonfuls of glaze and 126 tart shells that had to be baked beforehand.

It’s safe to say the poor man almost wept. Now between me and you 126 tarts does not seem like a reasonable amount of goodies to make but it would be perfectly explainable with the events that had happened last night.

Last Night  
“Oh bloody hell.” He looked at the tray upon tray of tarts which seemed to line the counter tops of his bakery, to be precise it was 126 tarts. “Why did I make so damn many?” The angelic man’s face floated into his mind. 

“Curses it’s your fault distracting me with your dumb face, 126 tarts they better sell I blame you.” He said to himself bitterly thinking of the angelic man as he slumped against a wall pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. 

I don’t even like strawberries he thought to himself. Then speaking out loud he said “I must be losing my mind, I don’t even know his name. Pull yourself together Crowley you bloody idiot.”

Sleep had not come easily to Crowley that night packing and preserving 126 tarts was no joke. 

Back To The Present.  
Crowley glumly packaged one apple tart in brown wrapping paper adding a splash of milk to earl grey before he handed it over the curly haired man. 

“New special you get a strawberry tart with every apple pie.” The man smiles from ear to ear blissfully unaware of the hell he had caused this man.

“Thank you ever so much.” He said quite brightly and as he went to reach for the goodies Crowley was holding his hand gently brushed Crowley’s, a spark seemed to instantly run up Crowley’s fingers and short circuit his brain, he could only dumbly smile at the man and drivel nonsense as the man walked out the door. 

What was that Crowley thought to himself later on that night while packing away the bakery. I acted like a proper idiot he thought despairingly. How can such a bizarre man have such an effect on him was what Crowley was left pondering. Sad one minute, happy the next? “You must be getting old you senile bag of bones.” He muttered to himself catching his appearance in the reflection of a tin tray. 

Unbeknownst to many but every Sunday Crowley had been going to a counsellor known as a Mrs Beezlebub, strange name apparently it was Greek. A rather strange looking woman with a dark choppy hair and a number of warts that lined her face wearing a pinstriped suit. 

“Well you’ve been sitting there like a sorry sight for quite a while want to tell me what’s on your mind Mr Crowley?” Her harsh crow like voice snapping him out of his inner delemor .  
“Tarts.” 

Her nose crinkled.  
“What?”  
Crowley was reclined on the counselling bed sighing as he firmly intertwined his hands together his sunglasses sliding slightly down his nose a eternity of silence passed before he finally shared the rest of his thoughts.

“Tarts I said, Strawberry tarts.”  
He exclaimed with a sigh.  
“126 of them.” 

The sound of pen scribbling came to an ubrupt stop as she looked at him quite puzzled.  
“Well I’ve heard that you’re a baker Mr Crowley but 126? 126 tarts that’s a tad excessive isn’t it?”

The disbelief was evident in her voice and it seemed to lull Mr Crowley further into his own shame.  
“Do you like tarts?” He asked exasperated and trying to change the subject.  
“No.” She stated indignantly.

“I don’t either” he finished, while covering his face with his hands.  
“Is this a mid-life crisis? Like instead of a normal man my age buying an overpriced car I make a ridiculous amount of tarts for some strange man who I don’t even know their name.”

A silence passed between them as Mrs Beezlebub chewed on the end of her pen thinking quietly to herself.  
“I’m going to run a diagnostic test with you, it might tell me what’s wrong.”

Crowley took a deep breath before reluctantly agreeing.  
“Okay.”  
She scribbled something down before starting to question him.

“Do you find yourself sweating nervously around a new stranger? Let’s say the tart man that you made 126 tarts for......”  
Crowley looked at her sharply.

“.....Hypothetically.” She said finishing her sentence without looking up from her board.  
He sighed before answering. “Yes.”  
“Tongue tied around them?” She said confusing to scribble. 

“Yes, very, I made a fool out of myself last time.” He said groaning miserably.  
“Fever?”  
“Of course.” He answered.  
“Quickening of the heart pulses?”  
“Yes.”Crowley answered irritated.

“Heightened temper?” She flicked a piece of lint off her suit.  
“Yes.” He growled slightly the questioning bruising his ego.  
“Can’t stop thinking about them?” She said.  
“Oh all the time lately.” He said.  
The pen scribbling and all sounds in the room came to a halt. 

What happened next was Crowley barely managed to miss a flying pen and writing board as he swiftly exited the counselling room quickly with the a screeching voice yelling behind him.

“It’s a crush you damn moron.”  
Came the harsh crow of the woman as he barely managed to close the door in time to miss a stapler to the face. The sound of it uselessly hitting the closed door as he stood in the hallway followed by a cross word from the therapy room.

“Don’t go wasting your counselling time daft fool. Come back when you’re actually suffering a mid-life crisis.  
“But we are friends.” Crowley said whining behind the safety of the door in case she decides to throw anything more.

“You don’t pay me enough for us to be friends.” The soft click of a lock turning on the door signifies the end of their conversation Crowley sighed and went to walk down the hallway when he noticed a new door sign. He read it to himself quietly. “Gabriel.” He shrugged and kept walking down the hallway. “Must be a new psychologist.” He said to himself sauntering off down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t forget to give Kudos and comments if you liked the story I already feel so touched and encouraged by the people that have supported me by reading my fanfics giving Kudos and comments. Haha it’s seriously the best thing in the world. 
> 
> I love you guys my little Angel Cakes sincerely CrumpetsAndTea.
> 
> P.S About my upload schedule it’s a bit all over the place currently I’m working on 2 fanfics (Angel Cake And Coffee + Life Can Be Sweet) each with around about 1,000 word updates so I’m trying to aim to upload a new chapter every 1-2 weeks preferably 1 but please be patient my dears. I might only be able to upload on 1 fanfic a week sorry for the wait. 💜 I appreciate your support.


	4. HIatus

Don’t worry I’m not going to stop writing this I just need some time to sort everything. Sorry everyone I’ve been really bogged down with work lately and haven’t had any time to to write I appreciate all you’re feed back but my health is really suffering trying to juggle a lot right now I will be sure to update as soon as I can. I’m very happy that you’ve all read and enjoyed my work. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.


	5. Marmalade Ketchup Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my angel cakes I’m back from my Hiatus and I’d like to dedicate this chapter to a reader who has really been on my fanfics since day 01. This chapter is dedicated to a Mr/Mrs Enj_y whose kind words and encouragement has really helped me through some rough writers block. Thank you very much. It’s a shorter chapter than usual but I felt like adding more would ruin the flow. A new chapter coming up next week. Please enjoy from Enj_y.

After their strange fanciful meeting with the counsellor, a singular Crowley J Anthony was stupefied, stunned, astonished, dumbfounded at the revelations.

A crush? 

Me?

He thought to himself bitterly out loud angrily “Oh stop it Crowley you’re not a giggling teenager, your 30.” He crossly reminded himself.

But his mind had other thoughts as it drifted into places he had no business drifting. 

His mind rising to indecent thoughts like a successful banana bread in an oven, thinking of things like blonde golden curls softer than whipped cream in a sponge cake.

Baby eggshell blue eyes like blueberry macarons coupled with skin the colour of milk.

And those sinful lips, the faintest tint of red with its softness likened to an edible flower such as candied roses on top of a wedding cake. 

Oh no...down the rabbit hole was where Crowley’s mind went when he imagined said man in a wedding dress and his imagination vividly coloured in his daydream in hues of pink as he saw a man walking down an imaginary isle. 

The guests standing on either side of the pew seemed to blur as though he couldn’t quite make them out, the wedding cake of course was Lemon cheese cake a classic. 

The dress looked equivalent to a chiffon cake, soft and scrumptious with ruffles and lace. White as is traditional though it wasn’t his favourite colour it looked amazing on the man to be his wife.

The sounds of wedding bells played in the church and Crowley standing in his best attire looking lovingly at those baby blue eyes of his beloved. Eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled blissfully. 

The flower petals underneath the man’s dress making a peculiar sound as they were crushed..

It’s as if someone pressed pause on a video tape.

Crush...

The word seemed to echo in Crowley’s head. 

Crush!

It seemed to ping into the sides of his head like a blue DVD waiting screen.  
Why did those words sound familiar?

Crush?

The therapist words seemed to play in his head at the most infuriating times.  
It’s a crush.

He slammed his fist on the counter top ripping his thoughts away from his daydreams. “ITS NOT A CRUSH!” He yelled out loud.

The sound of the bell ringing shocked him out of his own bubble as someone who just entered the room echoed something.

“Crush?” He looked quite stunned at the angelic man that just entered and mentally kicked himself.

“Passion fruit mango crush cupcakes, it’s a new sale.” He wheezed, sweating bullets like a sinner in Church. 

Pull yourself together Crowley you can’t come up with a new sale every time this man comes around it will be obvious.

The man seemed to stare at the display glass, his face a mixture of delight and intrigue unbeknownst how much he tortured the poor baker Crowley. 

Right, Crowley thought to himself.  
Today is the day you ask this man’s name.  
No ifs or buts. This has gone on long enough you’re a grown up. A man, it’s ridiculous. 

He opened his mouth ready to deliver his charming but humble, irresistible, but humble, completely sexy, but humble introduction but was interrupted. 

“One Blueberry Cheese cake please!” The man in front of him brightly beamed and Crowley could only give him was a rather distracted answer his mind blanking quicker than a student called on to answer a maths question.  
“Yup.”  
He said rather awkwardly.  
After delivering the said goods the man exited the bakery swiftly with nothing so much as a thank you.

Leaving a poor Crowley standing their like a dehydrated grape (Or a husband left at the alter) as he sunk to his counter top his forehead pressing against it and groaning like there wasn’t at least fifty other customers in the shop. 

It was indeed a crush and one the poor man was failing at more so than marmalade ketchup cakes he had created this Sunday and both left a nauseating aftertaste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to give Kudos and comments if you liked this my Angel Cakes all of it really makes my day. This seems to be getting longer the more I write but I have rather unfinished business the story doesn’t feel complete yet. Again thank you very much to Enj_y.


	6. Octopus Jelly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my Angel cakes it looks like inspiration struck quicker then I thought. Consider it an early Halloween present. I love Halloween which is why there’s a little inside joke on Halloween in the writing hehe I couldn’t resist. . So here is my newest chapter. Please enjoy it. It’s rather longer than my last.

What ensured next over the few weeks was a strange game of cat and mouse. Crowley J Anthony never did things normally or by halves so what came into play was a rather obscure and unnecessarily complicated ploy to find out the angelic beings name.

He couldn’t just ask like a normal person, no, no, no that required a good deal of common sense.

Crush or not crush time to put the name to the unnamed.

Attempt no 01

Crowley starred at the man who glanced back giving him a confused smile as he glanced through a catalogue of their sweets. He had ordered earlier.  
He thought to himself concentrating.  
Alex? Are you an Alex? Adam? Allan? 

He pressed the bell in front of him and gave an assured smile.

“Blueberry muffin for Alex!”  
The blonde haired man’s eyes lit up.  
I gotcha he thought smugly to himself, but then the angelic man’s face fell and several other people in the small bakery in unison said “yes?” 

“Not you” Crowley growled.

Crowley cursed himself.  
What that’s not your name? I was so sure. 

Attempt no 02  
Benjamin’s, Barry, Bob, Bensen the names ran through Crowley’s mind like a lottery ticket.  
“Brioche bun for Barry!”  
Again the man went up to the counter frowned and walked away while the people in the bakery waited on an imaginary Barry to pick up his order. 

Attempt no 05  
Evan, Eric, Ethan.  
“Come grab your piping hot order of cheese muffins Ethan!”  
Puzzled glances and infuriated people.  
Incorrect.

Attempt no 08  
Harry, Henry, Harold.  
“Harold ol’ boy your peanut bagels are ready.”  
Dow Dow wrong again.  
That night more than a few trays went flying out a window it wasn’t a mystery who threw them. 

Attempt no 15  
Oliver, Ottis, Olaf.  
“Olaf you’re going to go Bananas for these freshly baked banana bread.”  
There was literal radio silence from the crowd who starred at him like he was quite the madman.  
Wrong again.  
That night some Madeline trays were found on the side walk.

Attempt no. 22  
Victor, Vincent, Vance  
“Vance, come get your nutty goodness. Nutella scones.”  
Disgruntled mumbling followed in suit and the glassy eyed look of disappointment seemed to fill the blondes eyes like overstuffed profiterole.  
An entire shelf mysteriously wound up half way down the street. Torn to shreds.

Attempt no. 27  
Zed, Zakary, Zander.  
“Zander your sweet buns are delectably bouncy. Get them while they’re hot.”  
Pots lined the street that line thrown around like a madman had found a kitchenette.  
Not a single person stepped forward and Crowley was well and truly done as he sunk to his arms in defeat. 

He hadn’t answered to a single one of the names.  
He wasn’t Alex, Barry, Or Ethan.  
Not Harold, Olaf or Vance and Crowley knew for certain he wasn’t a Zander that had been a long shot even for him.  
So yet again Crowley let himself fall into the very pits of despair. 

He had went through all 27th letters in the alphabet randomly guessing names and not a single one fit the bill.

The store bell chimed and Crowley did so wish it didn’t. It was a Sunday afternoon and after about two weeks of trying the store bell sounded like the KO signal of a boxer being knocked clean out and this man had KO’D Crowley quite clearly.

Crowley sighed and didn’t even greet the man feeling defeated, more defeated than the entire section of octopus Jellys in his fridge. The Victorians were wrong Octopus Jelly wasn’t a treat it was a very nasty plague put on this earth in Crowley’s opinion. 

“Oh what’s this? Cooking classes? How exciting! And on a weekend? Marvellous!” 

Crowley’s eyes were closed as he was slumped across the counter. But then his attention was drawn as he heard the sound of a pen scratching.

He shot up and saw none other than the blonde torturer of his dreams scrawling his name across the sign up subscription to a cooking class.

Not a single other person had signed up to it because they frankly all thought it sounded terrible, so when the man gave over his subscription to Crowley to look over he felt like Charlie with the golden ticket because scrawled in neat cursive writing was a singular name.

“Aziraphale.” He muttered out loud and looked up at the man who grinned and put his hand out to shake.

It suited the man to a T was what Crowley thought. 

“Yes it’s so very nice to finally meet you” the man blushed quite prettily around his plump cheeks.

“P-properly er I mean of course, I’m very sorry for the late introduction it’s very rude of me Mr...Mr?”

The man seemed to struggle and even though his squirming made something warm and squishy tug at Crowley’s chest he obliged the poor man and grasped his soft hands in a firm handshake.

“Crowley. I will see you this Sunday love.”  
He said beaming as though he’d just won a lifetime supply of chocolate. 

“See you soon, it’s so exciting!” The man said after ordering and leaving the bakery, Crowley didn’t let out a victory yell as soon as the man was out of earshot , he also didn’t jump up and down and he most certainly didn’t do a victory dance around the bakery when all the customers were gone. 

Because he finally had a name to match the adorable blonde man and it was a most fitting one, not to mention he had a date.. I mean ahh...a baking lesson with just the two of them.

Brilliant. 

And that night not a single baking trays nor shelf or pot went missing and all was well in the quiet little streets, save for one happy baker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello don’t forget to give Kudos and comments my angel cakes it always inspired me. I liked writing this chapter a ton. Look forward to the next update next week (or earlier please keep a lookout) thank you my darlings.


	7. Fish Paste Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ran into a major writers block but here’s a new chapter hope you enjoy my Angel cakes. I have a feeling me and Crowley we’re both quite frustrated at our own sense of creativity blocks.   
Don’t forget to comment and give kudos I appreciate it.

It was not nearly as brilliant as he thought. The only thing more vexing than striving to get what you want, like a child reaching for a toy being dangled out of reach is when you finally get what you want and then have not the slightest idea what to do with it all.

The most terrible thing of all when running a cooking class is that indeed you have to have somewhat of an idea of what you were going to cook. 

“Ballocks.” Crowley yelled.   
If the customers at his bakery had thought a baking class was a terrible idea than Crowley Anthony had thought even more so.  
He hadn’t the foggiest Idea of what recipes he should prepare for the next ongoing weeks which served to be a massive problem.

For this customer was not a normal customer and Crowley quite earnestly for the first time wanted to seem impressive to someone anyone that knew Crowley knew this was irregular, he’d checked he wasn’t sick just possibly mad or having a mental break down. 

This problem was like David and Goliath, Percy and Medusa, Zeus and concepts of virginity and most importantly Crowley versus a very empty piece of paper. 

All the greatest muses and Artists would tell you nothing was more threatening than a blank piece of paper because it required substance and Crowley didn’t have time for substance since it was only tomorrow. 

Think Crowley you old bastard. He thought to himself sitting quietly and closing his eyes as he cross-legged sat on top of a table in a dreadful show of lack of manners. 

First he saw darkness, the flickering of a long corridor, with a singular wooden door at the end. It opened as he walked towards it and was bathed in a white light.

His mind was flicking through recipes at a million miles per hour, strictly in his head he carried a library of over 1,000 recipes each more difficult and fantastic than the last like a vast and massive collection and when he closed his eyes it was like sorting through each book carefully stored away in the nooks and crannies of his mind. 

He could almost mentally feel his fingers brush over the dated books, the paper dusty from years of being shelved away in his head.  
Book after book went clattering to the floor and he mumbled sorting through each recipe book. 

“Not this one, cant be that one. It’s impossible really impossible.”   
He didn’t know how long he had sat there, he had sorted from Mrs Margarets butter pies to Rory’s handmade fish paste ice cream.  
Neither of those fitted the angelic being that had invited himself into Crowleys waking dreams. 

A-Z every book insight and still his memory had failed him and by the time he had opened his eyes it was well and truly dark outside and the clock struck midnight. He sighed and winded as he went to get off the table his back and spine quite stiff from holding his frame in such a position. 

He hobbled clinging to the side of the wall cursing as many bad words as possible as he held onto book shelves trying to make it upstairs. His hand brushed a book and he cursed in a fit of rage slamming his hand into the shelf. 

“Damnit! Give me one good thing!” A book suddenly dislodged itself from the pile and smacking him on top of the head leaving him crumbling to the floor like a disastrous sponge cake collapsing from the weight of the cream.  
The cold ground touching his cheek, he rubbed his head grumbling from the fall and pulling himself In an upright position, the hard floors had felt very un-pillow-like. 

His hand searching for the book that fell.  
He grasped the culprit and picked it up ready to throw it when a recipe caught his eye.  
He turned around and yelled at the top of his lungs hoping whatever angel had blessed him that night woulda hear him. 

“Thank you!”   
Crowley in particular was not a religious man, but the only thought of this specific recipe book hitting him was divine intervention.   
His grinned spread from ear to ear like a cheesecake, this was it. 

This was the recipe that would start it all. It was so devastatingly simple, so obviously the right recipe that it was frustrating almost. In all the deserts in the world what would be more classic and more simple than this? 

This was child’s play to a baker, the begging of childhood memories and dreams of breakfast foods. It was your mother’s favourite dish on a simple Sunday afternoon and simmered with nostalgia and dreams of simplistic times of boyhood. 

What better than a recipe so divine than pancakes?  
Specifically brown sugar and lemon pancakes, invented by the French called pan-cakes the name quite suited because it was indeed made in a pan. 

Pancakes was the best decision. Simple, delicious, and when topped with lemon and sugar syrup it was simply scrumptious. 

An angelic desert for an angelic man. What could be better?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to comment what you like and give kudos it really motivates me a lot. I love hearing you guys enjoy the fanfic.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t forget to give kudos and comments it really motivates me to write more and I really appreciate the encouragement. Thank you Angel Cakes.


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